You Do What You Must
by JantoJones
Summary: Illya and Napoleon both do what they need to in order to get the job done.


The figure in black stalked through the darkness, carefully avoiding the people who were blundering about in the sudden lack of light. The power for the whole complex had shut down less than a minute previously, spurring the occupants into searching for the problem. The man responsible, Napoleon Solo, was waiting outside for his black clad partner to perform his side of the plan. As he moved from room to room, planting explosive charges along the way, Illya Kuryakin figured he had all of eight minutes left before the power would be restored.

The building had been determined to be a production facility for many of the drugs THRUSH used to torment and interrogate their prisoners. Upon learning this, Illya had immediately volunteered himself to destroy the facility. Knowing all too well how much Kuryakin had suffered, not just from the drugs, but also from the side effects he often experienced, Waverly was happy to allow him, and Solo, to take on the task. Besides, the Old Man wanted the complex obliterated, and the Russian was, by far, the finest explosives expert he had.

Fifteen minutes before Napoleon had cut the power, Illya had entered the building, and secreted himself away in a lightless cubbyhole. He would have preferred it to have been longer, but it was too risky. He'd calculated that fifteen minutes would be just about enough for his night vision to reach its peak. Illya proceeded swiftly, having memorised the ground plan, and within minutes found himself at the main production room. It took very little time for him to place the charges he had remaining; he would detonate them once he was clear of the building. If he'd planned things correctly, he had two and a half minutes to get out.

Unfortunately, Illya had miscalculated.

He was still about a minute from safety when the power returned and the lights came on. Temporarily blinded, Illya didn't see the guard until he ran into him.

"What do we have here then?" the unformed man growled, slamming Illya into the wall. "It seems to be a tiny burglar."

"Who are you calling tiny?" Illya snarled in return, before driving a fist into the man's stomach.

The guard fell back with a gasp, but was quick enough to grab the intruder's ankle as he tried to run. Illya landed face first, dazing himself as his head made contact with the floor. Rolling away as the guard prepared to strike again, he came to a decision he hadn't wanted to make. However, he couldn't allow time for the explosives to be found before he could have a chance to discharge them. Feeling for the detonator on his watch, Illya mumbled an apology to Napoleon, and set the cascade of charges away.

…

Napoleon Solo was a man of action, so waiting for his partner to complete the mission was doing nothing for his nerves. His unease grew when the power to the complex was restored before Illya had exited and returned to their vehicle. When the building began to be rocked by a series of explosions, Napoleon's panic levels went off the scale.

With his breath held, he desperately scanned all the possible exits for any sign of Illya. From the planning session, Napoleon knew that the Russian had decided to set the charges off in a cascade, allowing five seconds between each one. Illya's innate paranoia meant he had allowed for some running time should he get held up along the way. As each charge blew, with no sign of his partner emerging, Napoleon's heart sank lower.

Finally, after what seemed like decades, a door was flung open and two men tumbled out. The shorter man was clearly trying to escape the grasp of the other. Solo watched on as Illya gained the upper hand and knocked his assailant out with a well-placed chop to the neck. As his partner began to run away from the building, Napoleon let go a deep sigh of relief. He was just taking his next intake of breath when the wall exploded outwards and enveloped Illya.

Solo didn't hesitate for a moment, and ran at full speed towards his fallen colleague. Upon reaching the devastation, he initially thought he would have to dig to find his friend. Luckily, the light from the nearby flames illuminated a mop of blond hair; Illya's hat having been blown off in the blast. Napoleon moved aside the debris which was covering his partner, who was lying face down. He carefully rolled him over and was overjoyed to find he was breathing. The joy was short-lived when he noticed a jagged bone poking through Illya's sweater. It would be obvious to anybody that his collar bone was quite badly broken. Despite knowing it was a bad idea, Napoleon lifted his partner up into a cradling carry, and moved him as quickly as possible to the car. There was no time for finesse, and it was too dangerous to bring an ambulance to them. Napoleon would have to get Illya to a hospital himself.

He had to drive for twenty minutes before he found what he was looking for. Throughout the journey, Napoleon kept up a soothing litany of calming words. He told himself they were for Illya, but as the Russian was unconscious, and unable to hear him, he knew it was more for himself. He pulled to a gentle stop outside the entrance of the hospital and, ignoring protests from a security guard, he lifted Illya from the car and took him inside.

He was immediately swamped by medical staff, who took the injured man from him. Napoleon tried to follow them into the room they'd gone into, but was stopped by a nurse.

"Please wait out here, Sir," she said in her practiced calm tone. "I will let you know what is happening. Now could you tell me your friend's name?"

"Illya Nickovitch Kuryakin," Napoleon supplied, trying to look past the nurse.

"Say that again," called the doctor from inside the room.

"Illya Nickovitch Kuryakin," Solo repeated.

"Absolutely not!" the doctor stated, before ordering the rest of the staff to stand down. "I'm not saving the life of a damned commie."

"He is an agent of the U.N.C.L.E.," Napoleon told him, pulling his ID out. "As am I."

"I don't care who he is. As the Chief of this hospital, I'm not allowing him to be treated. You'll have to take him elsewhere."

"You have to be kidding!"

Solo could understand the doctor's attitude, but he didn't have to like it. Illya was bleeding heavily, and probably wouldn't survive the trip to another hospital. He fished his wallet from his pocket and offered all the money in it.

"You'll get paid by our agency anyway, but maybe this will help grease the wheels."

"Please Dr Hawkes," begged the nurse who had stopped Napoleon from entering. "Does it really matter? There is a man in need of medical help."

"No!" Hawkes snapped. "Get him out of here!"

"In that case," said Napoleon in a very low and dangerous voice. "Perhaps this will persuade you."

In a swift, smooth movement, he slid his special from his holster and aimed it at the doctor.

Time seemed to freeze as all eyes fixated on the weapon in Napoleon's hand. All eyes, bar the doctor's that was.

"Is the threat of violence supposed to induce me to change my opinion," Hawkes sneered, with derision. "I saw plenty of guns in Korea, where I witnessed first-hand what communism did to our troops. I was the one patching them up in a M.A.S.H. unit."

For all he wanted to argue the point with the doctor, Napoleon fully understood where he was coming from. There had once been a time when he would have agreed with Hawkes' opinion, but time and circumstances had taught him that things weren't as black and white as they may seem.

"I was in Korea also," Solo told him, with astounding restraint. "My life was saved by a M.A.S.H. doctor more than once. That man in there has saved it more times than I can count, and has saved your life more than you will ever know."

"Excuse me Dr Hawkes," interjected a young medic, named Dr Carlton, who was waiting by Illya's side.

The doctor turned to glare at the person who had dared to interrupt the conversation. The younger man shrank back slightly, but continued on.

"Forgive me for saying, but I still stand by the Hippocratic Oath," he stated. "I don't wish to defy your authority, but this man has a serious injury, and is bleeding out while you stand there arguing. Surely, when you were in Korea, you were called upon to treat an enemy combatant."

A low, pain-filled moan emanated from the injured man, announcing his return to consciousness. Illya tried, and ultimately failed, to sit himself up.

"I know when I'm not wanted," he hissed through gritted teeth. "I wouldn't want to be an obstacle to the smooth running of this hospital. I will, however, require a little help to leave."

Without waiting for permission, Dr Carlton strode back into the room and began to examine Illya. After a brief hesitation, Nurse Williamson, who had tried to persuade Hawkes to change his mind, joined the young doctor in his ministrations. There was a young nurse also in attendance, who seemed to be wavering over what to do. In the end, she decided to leave the room. Napoleon couldn't blame her. She was very young, and Dr Hawkes was a formidable man.

"Do what you must," Hawkes growled. "But be sure to know you haven't heard the last of this."

He turned on his heel and stormed off. Napoleon watched him go as he re-holstered his weapon. He felt a little ashamed at having resorted to such a tactic, but Illya needed help; although, Mr Waverly was bound to have something to say about the whole thing. The Old Man had very definite views about not threatening innocents. Temporarily pushing that thought aside, Napoleon went in to join his partner.

"What's the verdict, doc?" he asked as he entered.

"We're going to have to send him to surgery," Carton replied. "It looks to be a fairly nasty wound, but once we stop the bleeding and put everything back where it should be, he'll be well on the way to recovery."

"Should go to different . . . bol'nitsa ( _hospital_ )," Illya mumbled.

"You just lie quietly and be a good boy, Tovarisch."

After Illya was wheeled down for his surgery, Nurse Williamson handed Napoleon the paperwork he needed to fill out.

"Please don't think too badly of Dr Hawkes," she said, sitting down beside the agent. "He was captured by the Chinese when he was in Korea, and barely made it out alive."

"I understand, I really do," Napoleon told her. "But he's Russian, not Chinese. When people first find out Illya is Russian, all they can think of is 'communist'. He doesn't deny it, but if people knew the sacrifices he made for their safety, they might think differently."

"I'm afraid that to Dr Hawkes, Red is Red. Don't worry though, we'll patch your friend up."

"Thank you," he replied, and flashed one of his million watt smiles. "I suppose I'd better get onto my boss and apprise him of the situation.

Nurse Williams returned the smile and left Napoleon to it.

…

To say Mr Waverly was unhappy would be an understatement of epic proportions. It wasn't only Solo's rash behaviour which had him seething, but the fact a hospital had tried to refuse treatment for one of his agents. Napoleon realised just how mad the chief was when he announced he would be coming to the hospital himself.

Tucking his communicator away the CEA took a long, deep breath. Things were going to get quite intense pretty soon.

…

Illya was out of surgery by the time Mr Waverly arrived two hours later. His helicopter caused quite a stir amongst the locals, as did the two security agents he had with him. He was also accompanied by Dr Leonard Barrie, one of the doctors from U.N.C.L.E. medical. Waverly instructed Barrie to locate Mr Kuryakin, while he himself headed for the office of Dr Hawkes.

"Send Mr Solo in my direction if you would, doctor."

Napoleon was reading the local newspaper to the unconscious Illya when Dr Barrie entered the room. He couldn't hide his surprise at seeing the man.

"Dr Barrie? I take it you're here with Mr Waverly."

"I am," The medic replied. "And the man in question wants you to join him in Dr Hawkes' office."

Napoleon was not by nature a nervous man, but he knew he'd committed a huge faux pas in threatening the doctor. When he'd informed Mr Waverly of the situation, he'd owned up to it immediately. The Old Man hadn't said anything directly, but Solo knew from his tone that he was in trouble. The tone had hardened further still when Waverly learned of the reason for Napoleon's indiscretion.

"I've face danger and death every day," Solo commented. "Yet facing Mr Waverly terrifies me more than any of that."

"What have you done now?" came a weak voice from the bed.

"Hey, Tovarisch, welcome back. I'll let the good doctor here fill you in. I don't want to keep the Old Man waiting."

Napoleon reluctantly made his way to Dr Hawkes' office, where he greeted Agent Matthews, who was waiting outside. He asked about their boss's mood, only to be given a throat coating gesture in reply.

"Very funny," Solo muttered, before he knocked on the door.

He figured, given the situation, he'd be better off waiting for permission to go in. The door was opened by the other bodyguard, Agent Johnston.

"Mr Waverly asks if you'll wait out here until he calls you."

The door was closed again, leaving Napoleon standing with his mouth agape. He shot a look at Matthews, who was clearly trying not to smirk. Being made to wait was obviously intended to put Napoleon in his place, and the CEA accepted it as such. If someone under his command had pulled a stunt as stupid as threatening an unarmed man, he would have hauled them over the coals. He also knew that he would do it again if the need arose. Still, that didn't make it right.

It was another ten minutes before Napoleon was finally given leave to enter the office. Taking the seat offered by Dr Hawkes, he sat down and waited for the inevitable admonishment. Surprising, the first thing he received was an apology.

"Please accept my sincerest apologies Mr Solo," Hawkes said, with absolute contrition. "My experiences at the hands of the Communist Chinese have somewhat coloured my opinions. My prejudices against that form of governance remain unchanged, but my opinion of your friend has been altered."

Napoleon looked from the doctor to Mr Waverly, but neither man was forthcoming as to what had been said between them. He had a feeling he would never know what had brought about such a sea change.

"Apology accepted," he said, with a nod.

"Thank you for your understanding doctor," Mr Waverly stated, "If you wouldn't mind, I need a few private words with Mr Solo. May I make use of your office for a short while?"

Hawkes readily agreed to the request, and left immediately. He was quickly followed by Agent Johnston, leaving Napoleon alone with his boss.

"I'm sure I have no need to express my feelings on your actions," Mr Waverly began. "But I will say that I expect better from my Chief Enforcement Agent."

"Yes Sir," Solo acknowledged, "but Illya wouldn't have made it to another hospital."

"I fully accept your reasons Mr Solo," Waverly told him. "I simply believe you could have found a more diplomatic solution. One which didn't require my attendance, I might add."

The Old Man got to his feet and beckoned for Napoleon to go with him. They, and the bodyguards, all headed to Illya's room, where they found Dr Hawkes in consultation with Dr Barrie.

"What is the prognosis?" Waverly asked them.

"Excellent," Barrie replied. "Mr Kuryakin will need a few days of rest, which I know he will take no heed of, then he will be restricted to light duty for a few weeks; which he will no doubt also ignore. Even though he is only just out of surgery, he is well enough to fly back with us. "

"Thank you Dr Barrie," Mr Waverly replied, before turning to Napoleon. "We shall be leaving within in the hour. Until then, I'll leave you with your partner, and then you can drive back to New York."

Waverly ushered everyone else out of the room. He was not happy with Mr Solo right at that moment, but he would never prevent one partner from satisfying his need to make sure the other partner was okay.

Napoleon once again took his place beside the sleeping Russian, and resumed reading the newspaper to him.


End file.
